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“Man, you ever think we’d end up here?” Dean muses aloud.
The sun is setting over the surface of the ocean, painting the violet sky and the clear water below with flecks of glimmering gold, but Dean isn’t appreciating it the way he should. He’s got the sticky sweet remnants of an umbrella drink in one hand, Cas’ hand in the other, with his bare feet embedded in the soft white sand, but the only thing his eyes are transfixed on is the way the light softens the sharp planes of Cas’ profile.
“No,” Cas answers truthfully. “I didn’t even think you’d survive the plane ride over. Frankly, I’m surprised I managed to land with all my fingers still in tact.”
Dean snorts. “S’not what I meant and you know it,” he says with an added eye roll.
“Maybe. Though, I like to believe I had good reason to hope,” he adds and Dean doesn’t miss the reverence there.
And okay, maybe Dean’s a little drunk. Only in the way that loosens your limbs and makes the laughter come easy. He knows he’s smiling though, for no particular reason at all, other than it’s Cas he’s out here with, but it doesn’t seem to matter because once Dean starts laughing, Cas can’t help but join him. And maybe Cas is a little drunk too now that he thinks about it because his usual fleeting looks seem to linger as the night drags to a head. His dark hair is wind-swept and his tanned skin is salt-kissed. There’s still sand desperately clinging to the soles of his bare feet and the undersides of his thighs. He looks… well, he looks happy. It’s not a sight Dean’s grown accustomed to quite yet and he thinks if he dwells on that too long— on all the time they’ve wasted— he might even start in with the waterworks. Because for once he could actually say, without a shadow of a doubt, he’s happy too. He doesn’t know what the hell they were waiting for, but man he’s glad they finally figured it out.
Sam and Eileen and Jack have long since retired back to their own room. Dean can’t blame them; Sam’s sunburn was worse than the boiled lobster he had for lunch and they’d spent most of the day in the sun. They spent the better part of the afternoon teaching Jack how to build a sand castle and checking out the hula classes too, and if you’d have told Dean maybe ten, fifteen years ago he’d spend that entire opportunity checking out the dorky dude in the salmon colored shorts and the greying sideburns instead of the girls in coconut bikinis and grass skirts he’d have thought you were yanking his chain, but that’s exactly what he did. Dean could actually say he tried snorkeling too. But as much as he loves the concept of a family vacation, this thing with Cas always leaves him wanting time alone— Just the two of them— now that they really had the time. Somehow though, Dean thinks the three of them catch on quick because it hardly took convincing for them to get out of their hair after dinner.
“Are you ready to turn in?” Cas asks when the moon creeps in overhead. His voice is laced with a residual warmth that emanates through the soft curve of his lips. He’s got a familiar glint in his eye that catches the low light when he looks over at Dean from his lounge chair. Dean knows the look well. It’s still so new to him— so human— that it renders him a little breathless.
“Yeah! Yeah, I just— Shit, hang on.” Dean sucks up the last of his drink, wiping the perspiration on his swim shorts, as he hastily shakes the sand from between his toes and slips on his sandals.
Fondly, Cas shakes his head and chuckles to himself as he does the same at a normal, unflappable pace. His blue hibiscus patterned shirt hangs loosely, unbuttoned down the front, showing off the new tan he got that day accentuated by the bright ley still hung around his neck and Dean finds himself distracted by the strip of skin as he trips over his own feet.
“What’re you laughin’ at over there, Mr. Hawaiian Tropic?”
“You,” Cas answers squarely, suppressing the smile vying to come to the surface.
They’ve shared seedy motel beds before. Dean’s offered his bed at the bunker too, but there’s always other people milling around; Sam snoring across the hall or across the room for starters. Jack not understanding the concept of privacy just like his dad. Honestly, the idea that Cas sleeps now is still so novel to him on its own that the prospect of them getting a room of their own here still sends a nervous jolt of anticipation down the length of Dean’s spine. He wads up his damp shirt in his fists, draping it over his shoulder, and picks up his clumsy gait to catch up with Cas further along the beach. Their footsteps move in tandem now, leaving imprints in the wet sand as they walk shoulder to shoulder. Their hands bumping in the middle all the while. It’s flirty and coy in an innocent way that belies that glint in his eye.
When they come to the door, Cas pulls out his wallet and rifles through for the room key. “Are you tired?” he asks, gaze focused resolutely on the task at hand.
“No, not yet,” Dean clears his throat inconspicuously, “I mean, I could stay up.”
“That’s good.”
“Is it?”
“I think so—”
Dean catches his stubbled jaw and cuts him off with a soft, lingering kiss. Cas’ lips brush sweetly against his when they part and Dean can’t help the grin that splits his face. “Is it?”
“I wasn’t ready for the night to be over yet,” Cas admits easily, opening his cerulean eyes and smiling when he sees the goofy look on Dean’s face.
“Y’know, Cas, if I didn’t know better here I’d think you were propositioning me.”
“So it would seem.” He inserts the card into the slot and they’re given the green light. “For my sake, I hope you don’t,” he murmurs to himself.
Dean follows him in with a palm splayed on the small of Cas’ back. He flips on the switch by the door, but when the light comes on he has to take it all in one more time.
Their room is spacious, airy, with high ceilings and exposed wood beams; a direct view of the ocean. The thread count on the sheets is probably higher than Dean can even count right now and he can’t wait to fall into it later.
“I should probably shower first,” he says, hanging his damp shirt by a hanger. “Between you and me, I think Flipper was getting a bit too friendly with me earlier on that dive.”
“Okay, I’ll wait out here.”
That causes Dean to pause. He closes the closet door with a frown pinching his forehead. “You don’t wanna shower with me? Thought we could have a little fun with that fancy showerhead or whatever.”
“How would we—” The frown that elicits is enough to get Dean laughing all over again. “Nevermind. I’ll just order room service. How’s that sound?”
“Like you read my mind,” he teases, pressing a loud kiss into his cheek.
Dean showers longer than intended, but it’s not his fault really. He doesn’t know whether it’s the water pressure, the fact he’s on an honest to god vacation in Hawaii, or if it’s because he’s happier than he ever recalls being, but this is the best shower he’s ever taken in his life, bar none.
“I don’t care what Sam says,” he calls out to the bedroom, “we’re definitely getting one of these damn rain shower heads for the bunker.”
He towels off and changes into a pair of clean boxer briefs then tousles his hair with his fingers in the mirror and spritzes himself with a little cologne. He’s in Hawaii with the man he loves and they have a suite to themselves— he’s pretty sure there’s no way his night could get any better, and yet when he walks back out into the bedroom twenty minutes later, the room is dimmed.
“You go to bed already?” he asks, though when he turns the corner the bedroom is lit with scented candles; there’s rose petals scattered on the bedspread; a bottle of champagne on ice beside it. Dean stops in his tracks.
And then— there’s Cas.
“Man, they really aren’t pulling any stops to get those Yelp reviews, huh?” Dean lets out a low, impressed whistle at the embellishments as he approaches the bed and picks up a gold embossed note settled into the bedding. It’s from the concierge. He has to squint to read it.
“Congratulations to the happy couple... We wish you a lifetime of... happiness,” Dean reads disjointedly. “Congratulations?” He looks to Cas then who’s hiding his blush behind the champagne label he’s currently inspecting and frowns. “Cas… What’s all this about?”
“I may have told the woman at the desk we would be celebrating,” Cas offers casually, setting the bottle back in the bucket with an attempt at nonchalance.
“When... I mean— uh, why? What’s the occasion?”
Bashfully, Cas rubs at the nape of his neck, a subtle blush blooming on his cheeks as he avoids Dean’s stare. “Where do I begin,” he wonders with a deep breath. Grounds himself, before letting it out. Stepping into Dean’s personal space then, he pulls him down to sit on the end of the bed, entwining their fingers in his lap and gazing at them as if they hold the answer to his own question. “Sam and Eileen helped me write a better version of this down on paper before we flew out here,” he admits, “But being here with you now, like this, I think I’m just going to ‘wing’ it, as they say.”
There’s a pun in there somewhere and Dean wants to laugh at it, but he can’t. His heart starts thumping against his ribs without his permission, but he resolves to keep his mouth closed.
“You know, I used to watch humanity and think to myself how arbitrary it all seemed,” Cas begins pensively. “That it was just pure chance when you discovered fire or utilized tools. I thought, God asked us to serve you, but I had questions even then,” he says, smiling fondly at the question in Dean’s touch. “But then the strangest things began to happen. You invented language. Art. Poetry. Love. Where it might have been chance before, it became more than that. Where there was seemingly little, suddenly life had purpose. It had meaning. That’s how I felt the first time I touched your soul.” He smiles then, finally gaining the courage to meet Dean’s eyes in that way that cuts him off at the knees. “I didn’t know it then, but you were changing me from the moment that we met.”
Dean’s throat feels tight and thick; it’s hard to swallow. His eyes start to burn alongside the blush that spreads out to his ears. “Cas,” he rasps, voice sounding hoarse even to his own ears, “What’s happening right now?”
Cas’ lips curve, innocently upward at whatever look of sobered realization is dawning on Dean’s face. And Dean knows where this is going. He’s seen enough chick flicks to know that much. He can feel it fluttering in the lining of his stomach, pressing in against his throat. In the way his palms are sweating against Cas’, but he can’t seem to let go of his hands for fear his own will start to tremble.
“I know what it feels like to lack purpose. To blindly follow orders even when everything in you is telling you they’re wrong. And I know now what it feels like to be human. To make your own choices, to make mistakes, and to love fiercely. I know that we’ve made mistakes— the amount is innumerable— but I- I wouldn’t trade any of the time I’ve spent with you on earth for anything. I’d do it all over again if it meant we’d end up here. And I meant what I said— Knowing you has changed me in the best way possible. I wouldn’t be the man that I am today without you. Without you, I’d never know love. And I do, Dean. With all that I am. I love you more now than I ever thought was possible. I know you told me once, you found the concept of marriage to be ‘stupid,’ but for the sake of arbitrary human tradition, I thought you might change your mind.”
Dean feels a hot tear slide down his cheek. The salt settles in the crease of his lip where it quivers between his teeth. “Cas—”
When Cas takes a knee, a single tear slipping down his cheek to match, it’s almost like watching a beautiful car crash, but Dean can’t turn away from it. He finds he doesn’t want to.
“I may not be able to promise you forever, but a forever without you would be worse than empty.” Reaching into his pocket, Cas fumbles through his own watery tears with the little velvet ring box. “I hope ‘as long as we both shall live’ is enough.” It opens on soft hinges, revealing a smooth, silver band with a vein of glowing blue.
“Dean,” he utters, “Will you marry me?”
Dean’s face is grossly wet, that much he knows is true. If that was the worse version, he doesn’t think he’d survive the better one anyhow.
“C’mere, you friggin’ sap,” he chokes out, hauling Cas up by the front of that stupid matching Hawaiian shirt Dean forced on him and into a lip-crushing kiss that he hopes says everything he can’t put a word to. And Cas goes willingly, taking it all in stride. Unflappable as ever, save the wetness reflecting in his eyes when they part. Dean cradles Cas’ head in his hands, rolling their foreheads together. “I love you,” he breathes against Cas’ skin, “You know that, right? Always have, always will. I dunno what you see in me, but I’m getting there. I’m gonna try every day to be what you see in me because that’s what you deserve.”
Cupping Dean’s wet, red face in his warm, dry palms, Cas stems the tears that just keep flowing out of him with a swipe of his thumbs and places a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You’re beautiful just as you are.”
Dean staves off another embarrassing blush, wiping the tracks on his cheeks with his palm and releasing his lip from his teeth with a heavy, labored breath. “You still gonna be sayin’ that when you have to change my diapers?”
“Of course,” Cas answers earnestly, like there’s no other option to consider. “Is that a ‘yes’?” he ventures to ask, and he actually has the audacity to sound uncertain.
A laugh bubbles up out of Dean’s chest that sounds suspiciously like another sob. He looks Cas in the eye and smiles with what feels like his whole face.
“Yeah, Cas,” he says with fond exasperation, “that’s a ‘yes.’”
Of course it’s a ‘yes’.